


Yo-ho-ho, And a Bottle of Rum

by nekare



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-20
Updated: 2011-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekare/pseuds/nekare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Um, crack? Sam and Dean, pirates extraordinaire!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yo-ho-ho, And a Bottle of Rum

“You know,” says Sam, looking down at his ruffled sleeves, “time travel sucks.”

Dean grins, eyes looking far too green with the eyeliner. “You only say that because you don’t manage to look half as dashing as I do in a hat, you sore loser.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, because you don’t look stupid at all while wearing six belts at the same time.” He actually doesn’t. He’s not about to say it out loud, though.

They’re stranded somewhere in the middle of the ocean, with only a small, tropical-looking island at their right as a landmark.

Dean had started saying stupid puns just after they had found themselves spirited away to lord knows where, with their clothes and weapons and the goddamn _car_ transformed into something out of a cheesy pirate movie. “Somehow, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Sammy-Toto,” he had said, and Sam had physically struggled not to smother his brother.

Dean’s taking it pretty well, though. It has a lot to do with the fact that the Impala makes one hell of a beautiful pirate ship, all black sails and kick ass cannons. It even has a bare-breasted mermaid on the keel, for Christ’s sake.

Dean stops fondling the ship long enough to look sideways at Sam. “Would you stop acting like such a little bitch already?” he says, squinting his eye at him. He had insisted on using an eye patch, for ‘ambiance’. Mainly, it just makes him look stupid. Sam is waiting for Dean to get distracted to throw the damn thing overboard. “We’re in pirate-land, Sam! Treasures! Easy girls! _Rum_!” Dean continues excitedly.

“Plagues! STDs! No toilets!” Sam says, matching Dean’s tone. Dean just rolls his eyes.

After a while of being ignored in favor of the now aquatic Impala, Sam figures he _could_ cheer up a bit. It could be worse, after all. They could’ve ended up at the eighties. He shudders at the thought.

They get attacked by real pirates some hours later, and they end up finding an akin spirit in Dean. Figures. So they drink a lot and Sam is the one that has to hold Dean when he pukes with his head outside the Impala. It’s all right, though. Sam has enough blackmail material to last a lifetime and he will never, ever, let Dean forget the time he started dancing on a table while singing a terribly off-key rendition of ‘Back in Black’ with a crowd of pirates cheering. Also, a zombie monkey had peed on his boots.

Besides, Dean had managed to slip a map out of the pocket of this shady-looking guy with really weird hand gestures that had kept on trying to grope Dean for the entire night. Dean keeps pretending he hadn’t liked it, but Sam had seen him looking quite cozy with the Jack What’s-his-name dude on the hallway, so he’s not exactly buying it.

So they go after the hidden treasure and Sam unleashes his geek ways when they find the ruins of an old, forgotten civilization and Dean tries (and fails miserably) to speak with a phony British accent when then end up meeting some folks from the East India Company. It’s all pretty exciting, actually, until they end up fighting an army of undead pirates. Then it sucks.

They do end up saving a couple of easy girls, though. That makes Dean happy. And Sam too, if he has to admit it, because a handjob’s a handjob and he was pretty drunk _anyway._

After they get the girls back to safety and their clothes are finally zombie-gut free, they lie down on a beach, the Impala anchored close, and they drink up. Because, uh, that’s why pirates do, right? Drink rum? And Sam figures one shouldn’t mess with stereotypes like that. Also, he likes rum. Rum is nice.

“Maybe we should stay here,” says Dean after a while of saying nothing. He’s scratching idly at his belly, eyes looking up at the stars.

“Like, for good?” Sam says, feeling a bit dizzy with the booze. He’s always been a lightweight, which is downright embarrassing for someone his size.

“No, genius, we could swing back every couple of months and have our butler clean the dust off our holiday residence. Of _course_ staying for good.” Sam doesn’t have to look to know that Dean’s rolling his eyes at him.

He frowns. “Dunno. What about everyone we know?”

Dean snorts. “In case you haven’t noticed, Sammy-boy, we’re kind of orphaned and Jo hates our guts and Ellen can’t see us without thinking of her dead husband and we have the feds after our trail. It’s not like we’ll be missed. I bet there are a lot of evil critters to kill in here, and we wouldn’t have that damned demon after us anymore.”

Damn, but it almost makes sense.

“Plus,” Dean continues, “There’s rum. Rum is nice.” Sam has to laugh at that. Man, they really _are_ brothers, aren’t they?

Over the course of the next few days, Sam starts to convince himself that maybe swashbuckling _is_ his destiny after all. Hunting is certainly more fun with their getaway car being a ship. And the Caribbean’s urban legends are certainly more interesting. He misses his computer, yes, but it’s a small price to pay for a break of the angst in their lives.

His computer looks cooler as a sword, anyway.

The quest for the treasure is full of hardships and pain, or so Dean says to the random girls they find in seedy bars across the Caribbean. Actually, they’re having the time of their lives. It’s almost like being a kid again, wearing kitchen rags around the head as an eye patch.

Only with, you know, real swords. And mosquito bites.

So yeah, Sam’s starting to adjust. The ruffled shirts turn out to be quite breezy and cool under the sun, and the eyeliner does make him look a great deal more mysterious. The heat and wacky legends bring the fun back into hunting, something he had never thought as possible after, well, everything, and after a month of sword fights and singing in saloons and sleeping in a hammock in the Impala, lulled by the movement of the waves, he realizes he’s enjoying himself immensely. The see sea monsters and possessed ships and a really odd festival in which the natives take their dead out of their graves and dance with the bones.

It only figures that the moment they touch their well-earned treasure, whatever spell had carried them a few centuries back vanishes, and they find themselves back in the (car-looking again) Impala, Sam’s hands clutching a dirty quarter.

“No, my gold!” yells Dean in anguish, and takes the quarter from Sam’s hand. He starts yelling at it, as if it holds all the answers in the world. “Take us back, take us back, take us back, damnit, I want my _money_ , you stupid crap!”

It doesn’t talk back. Thank goodness for small favors.

It doesn’t seem to have been more than a few days since they were gone, and the only thing that proves they didn’t imagine the entire thing in some sort of crazed joined hallucination is the fact that they’re both sporting fairly impressing tans and the Impala now has a tacky mermaid accessory, the kind that moves its little mermaid hips with ever movement of the car. Dean, obviously, thinks it’s the coolest thing ever since sliced bread. Sam threatens to burn it.

Dean’s stupid eye patch came back with them as well. Dean thinks it's a sign, and starts wearing it as often as he can.

Sam lets him, because the looks his brother gets are usually what brighten his day.

\----

A few months later, Sam finds a mention of the wicked Winchester brothers, feared pirates of old in an aging history book. Dean wants to take the book with them, but he has to settle with a lousy photocopy of the page because, according to Sam, ‘stealing library books is _wrong_ ’.

He does sign it, though, which leaves a lot of librarians puzzled over the years.


End file.
